D.H. Lawrence's Short Stories Thread

[Virgil]

See just my point, in taking it slowly and dissecting a story - one notices so much more. I am just a hopeless story dissector!

Yes, you're quite right Janine. I admit it now. It does take forever, but it's worth it.

[Janine]

Yes, you're quite right Janine. I admit it now. It does take forever, but it's worth it.

Finally agree....OK!

[Quark]

Looking over the previous posts, I don't think I have much to add. You guys have documented the psychodrama pretty well here. The princess is struggling to sate her curiosity while simultaneously keeping distance. Given how much Lawrence we've all read, I guess it goes without saying what L would think of this.

Oh, and Janine I did listen to the CDs. I can see why you were opting for "The Trousseau" earlier in the C thread. Brannagh does a great narration for that story.

[Janine]

Looking over the previous posts, I don't think I have much to add. You guys have documented the psychodrama pretty well here. The princess is struggling to sate her curiosity while simultaneously keeping distance. Given how much Lawrence we've all read, I guess it goes without saying what L would think of this.

Thanks, Quark, that is quite complimentary for all of us. We been disecting this one thoroughly. We also took more time to do so, which is good. It was a long story.

Yes, I well know what Lawrence would think of Dolly, but then again, he was friends with the real woman the story was based on. I think although there existed tension between she and his wife Frieda, L still got on ok with her as a friend, in the end. That was an odd group out there in New Mexico.

Oh, and Janine I did listen to the CDs. I can see why you were opting for "The Trousseau" earlier in the C thread. Brannagh does a great narration for that story.

Oh, glad you liked them and especially that one. I thought that was the very best. I could just imagine that house and approaching that yard. I liked his narration very well, too. I like all his narrations that I own. Only one I would complain about is the DVD of 'Midsummer Night's Dream'. but that is not his fault. The orchestra is louder than his recitations between. I have to keep adjusting the volumes. That was an engineering error, I am sure and people on Amazon, also complained about it. Maybe we can discuss 'The Trousseau' in the C thread; what do you think? I liked them all; I should relisten to them all again soon. I enjoy these audiofiles so much. I am sending the same set to Virgil tomorrow. He injoys audiobooks, too.

[Quark]

Yes, I well know what Lawrence would think of Dolly, but then again, he was friends with the real woman the story was based on. I think although there existed tension between she and his wife Frieda, L still got on ok with her as a friend, in the end. That was an odd group out there in New Mexico.

I didn't know she was based on Frieda. Given the little I know about her, I suppose that makes sense.

Maybe we can discuss 'The Trousseau' in the C thread

I don't think we're going to be discussing any stories in the C thread for a while. School will start again soon, and I probably won't be able to try another story until I hit my stride somewhere mid-semester.

[Janine]

I didn't know she was based on Frieda. Given the little I know about her, I suppose that makes sense.

No, you read me wrong; Dolly is based on Dorothy Brett; go back a page or so and you can see a photo of her when she was young. She and L's wife, Freida, clashed bigtime.

I don't think we're going to be discussing any stories in the C thread for a while. School will start again soon, and I probably won't be able to try another story until I hit my stride somewhere mid-semester.

That's ok, Quark, whenever you are ready. Maybe I will post some Chekhov photos or something in there in the meantime just to keep the thread active. I also saw a video on Youtube with excerpts from 'Ivanov' (even though that is a play) and an interesting interview segment on the play in the West End, London. I can post that link. Remember I posted the poster; Branagh plays Ivanov?

[Quark]

No, you read me wrong; Dolly is based on Dorothy Brett; go back a page or so and you can see a photo of her when she was young.

Ah, I see now.

Maybe I will post some Chekhov photos or something in there in the meantime just to keep the thread active. I also saw a video on Youtube with excerpts from 'Ivanov' (even though that is a play) and an interesting interview segment on the play in the West End, London. I can post that link. Remember I posted the poster; Branagh plays Ivanov?

Yeah, some multimedia in that thread would be good. I'm always trying to introduce photos, paintings, and whatnot to break things up a bit.

[Virgil]

You guys must be ready for the next section. I'll post tonight.

[Janine]

Ah, I see now.

Good, then you saw the photos....

Yeah, some multimedia in that thread would be good. I'm always trying to introduce photos, paintings, and whatnot to break things up a bit.

Great, Quark, then I will come up with somethings this month and next, just to keep the thread active. I love pictures to inhance the site, too. That adds interest. You always do a good job posting them. Maybe you can add some from now and then, in your slow periods, between teaching and schooling.

Yes, Virgil, I think we are ready for the next section,... whenever is fine...

[Janine]

posted twice by accident...oops...don't mind me...

[Janine]

Hey...Virgil, did you forget about the story again? I was hoping we could get to the next section soon.

[Virgil]

Yeah I did. Ok hold on. In a few hours.

[Janine]

Yeah I did. Ok hold on. In a few hours.

You sure have been forgetful this month....

[Virgil]

Ok, the senile one is finally going to post the next section.

At last they were down. Romero sat in the sun, below the wind, beside some squaw-berry bushes. The Princess came near, the colour flaming in her cheeks, her eyes dark blue, much darker than the kerchief on her head, and glowing unnaturally.

"We make it," said Romero.

"Yes," said the Princess, dropping the reins and subsiding on to the grass, unable to speak, unable to think.

But, thank heaven, they were out of the wind and in the sun.

In a few minutes her consciousness and her control began to come back. She drank a little water. Romero was attending to the saddles. Then they set off again, leading the horses still a little farther down the tiny stream-bed. Then they could mount.

They rode down a bank and into a valley grove dense with aspens. Winding through the thin, crowding, pale-smooth stems, the sun shone flickering beyond them, and the disc-like aspen leaves, waving queer mechanical signals, seemed to be splashing the gold light before her eyes. She rode on in a splashing dazzle of gold.

Then they entered shadow and the dark, resinous spruce trees. The fierce boughs always wanted to sweep her off her horse. She had to twist and squirm past.

But there was a semblance of an old trail. And all at once they emerged in the sun on the edge of the spruce grove, and there was a little cabin, and the bottom of a small, naked valley with grey rock and heaps of stones, and a round pool of intense green water, dark green. The sun was just about to leave it.

Indeed, as she stood, the shadow came over the cabin and over herself; they were in the lower gloom, a twilight. Above, the heights still blazed.

It was a little hole of a cabin, near the spruce trees, with an earthen floor and an unhinged door. There was a wooden bed-bunk, three old sawn-off log-lengths to sit on as stools, and a sort of fireplace; no room for anything else. The little hole would hardly contain two people. The roof had gone--but Romero had laid on thick spruce boughs.

The strange squalor of the primitive forest pervaded the place, the squalor of animals and their droppings, the squalor of the wild. The Princess knew the peculiar repulsiveness of it. She was tired and faint.

Romero hastily got a handful of twigs, set a little fire going in the stove grate, and went out to attend to the horses. The Princess vaguely, mechanically, put sticks on the fire, in a sort of stupor, watching the blaze, stupefied and fascinated. She could not make much fire--it would set the whole cabin alight. And smoke oozed out of the dilapidated mud-and-stone chimney.

When Romero came in with the saddle-pouches and saddles, hanging the saddles on the wall, there sat the little Princess on her stump of wood in front of the dilapidated fire-grate, warming her tiny hands at the blaze, while her oranges breeches glowed almost like another fire. She was in a sort of stupor.

"You have some whisky now, or some tea? Or wait for some soup?" he asked.

She rose and looked at him with bright, dazed eyes, half comprehending; the colour glowing hectic in her cheeks.

"Some tea," she said, "with a little whisky in it. Where's the kettle?"

"Wait," he said. "I'll bring the things."

She took her cloak from the back of her saddle, and followed him into the open. It was a deep cup of shadow. But above the sky was still shining, and the heights of the mountains were blazing with aspen like fire blazing.

Their horses were cropping the grass among the stones. Romero clambered up a heap of grey stones and began lifting away logs and rocks, till he had opened the mouth of one of the miner's little old workings. This was his cache. He brought out bundles of blankets, pans for cooking, a little petrol camp-stove, an axe, the regular camp outfit. He seemed so quick and energetic and full of force. This quick force dismayed the Princess a little.

She took a saucepan and went down the stones to the water. It was very still and mysterious, and of a deep green colour, yet pure, transparent as glass. How cold the place was! How mysterious and fearful.

She crouched in her dark cloak by the water, rinsing the saucepan, feeling the cold heavy above her, the shadow like a vast weight upon her, bowing her down. The sun was leaving the mountain-tops, departing, leaving her under profound shadow. Soon it would crush her down completely.

Sparks? Or eyes looking at her across the water? She gazed, hypnotised. And with her sharp eyes she made out in the dusk the pale form of a bob-cat crouching by the water's edge, pale as the stones among which it crouched, opposite. And it was watching her with cold, electric eyes of strange intentness, a sort of cold, icy wonder and fearlessness. She saw its museau pushed forward, its tufted ears pricking intensely up. It was watching her with cold, animal curiosity, something demonish and conscienceless.

She made a swift movement, spilling her water. And in a flash the creature was gone, leaping like a cat that is escaping; but strange and soft in its motion, with its little bob-tail. Rather fascinating. Yet that cold, intent, demonish watching! She shivered with cold and fear. She knew well enough the dread and repulsiveness of the wild.

Romero carried in the bundles of bedding and the camp outfit. The windowless cabin was already dark inside. He lit a lantern, and then went out again with the axe. She heard him chopping wood as she fed sticks to the fire under her water. When he came in with an armful of oak-scrub faggots, she had just thrown the tea into the water.

First, there seems to be a lot of alternating light and shadow in this section. Not sure if there is any significance to it.

Just a couple of interesting points in this section. One, the cabin is not much of a cabin. Apparently it has a hole in the roof, so this is practically primitive. I think that's Lawrence's point, to bring these two to a primitive essential.

Another point is highlighted with this:

The strange squalor of the primitive forest pervaded the place, the squalor of animals and their droppings, the squalor of the wild. The Princess knew the peculiar repulsiveness of it. She was tired and faint.

Agan this shows how naive she was. What did she think the primitive forest was going to be like? And if she wanted to go and see wild animals, did she not think they would have droppings.

Next, the Princess seems to be completely disoriented. She is "tired and faint" and seems to be in a "stupor" and crouching " in her dark cloak by the water, rinsing the saucepan, feeling the cold heavy above her, the shadow like a vast weight upon her, bowing her down." She is in a environment that is beyond her will to control and she cannot cope.

Finally she sees that wild animal that she came to search out:

Sparks? Or eyes looking at her across the water? She gazed, hypnotised. And with her sharp eyes she made out in the dusk the pale form of a bob-cat crouching by the water's edge, pale as the stones among which it crouched, opposite. And it was watching her with cold, electric eyes of strange intentness, a sort of cold, icy wonder and fearlessness. She saw its museau pushed forward, its tufted ears pricking intensely up. It was watching her with cold, animal curiosity, something demonish and conscienceless.

She made a swift movement, spilling her water. And in a flash the creature was gone, leaping like a cat that is escaping; but strange and soft in its motion, with its little bob-tail. Rather fascinating. Yet that cold, intent, demonish watching! She shivered with cold and fear. She knew well enough the dread and repulsiveness of the wild.

And once she sees it, what happens? She recoils. That last sentence actualy disturbs me: "She knew well enough the dread and repulsiveness of the wild." It kind of undermines the whole reason she pushed to go into the wild. How can "she know well enough"? She didn't seem to at the beginning of the story. There are a few details like that which make me wonder if Lawrence was really concentrating on this story. Still, on balance a good story, just not a great story for me.

[Janine]

Well hello Mr. Senility, glad you finally got around to posting something... the thread was fading into the sunset again...

And once she sees it, what happens? She recoils. That last sentence actualy disturbs me: "She knew well enough the dread and repulsiveness of the wild." It kind of undermines the whole reason she pushed to go into the wild. How can "she know well enough"? She didn't seem to at the beginning of the story. There are a few details like that which make me wonder if Lawrence was really concentrating on this story. Still, on balance a good story, just not a great story for me.

humm...I don't agree with you, I think Lawrence knew exactly what he was writing here. He revised his texts enough to know; and by now he was quite an experienced author of stories. I think that her dread and repulsiveness is clearly known to her, before she ventures into the wilderness; she knew it in Italy with the earthy cab drivers. She knew this repulsion then, this disgust. How different then is the raw power of the bob-cat? I think they relate - the men she encountered and shunned in the past and felt she was above and the raw sexuality and wildness of nature and the cat.

It kind of undermines the whole reason she pushed to go into the wild.

Here again I think this - sometimes something that repulses us can still draw us in and capture our attention. I think back to the bull-fight in "The Plumed Serpent"; although shocking and totally revolting, repulsive; people are drawn to it like fleas. They can't escape this drawing power to see it, even when, at the same time they are repulsed by it. I think the princess suddenly acts in the same way - she is drawn into the dark aspects of the mountains, the mystery of nature; once there, true - she is repulsed.

I will address more of your post above tomorrow. Going to bed now. *Yawn*...thanks for posting this, even if I had to remind you again....haha...